


Heal Me

by M J Holyoke (wholeyolk)



Category: Original Work
Genre: Every Woman 2019, Gen, POV Multiple, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-06-27 04:34:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19783363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wholeyolk/pseuds/M%20J%20Holyoke
Summary: “I don’t understand why you do it,” Gertie said. She wasn’t talking about the pears or the breakfast.Victoria shrugged. She’d been asked this before by others she’d helped heal. Her only regret was that she was only one woman. “My people won, but that doesn’t mean that your people need to keep on losing.”





	Heal Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [The_Exile](https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Exile/gifts).



She’d been a little girl once. She knew that. In theory, at least, she knew that. Once upon a time, she’d lived in peace.

But that had been a long, long time ago. Now, all she could remember was the battlefield. Fighting and blood and death. War. Endless war. Whenever she closed her eyes, whenever she dreamed, this was all she saw.

Fighting and blood and death. Fighting and blood and death. _Fighting and blood and death—_

“Wake up. It’s just a bad dream.”

Fighting and blood and death. Fighting and blood and death. _Fighting and blood and death—_

“Gertie, can you hear me? You’re dreaming. It’s time to wake up now.”

Fighting and blood and death. Fighting and blood and death. _Fighting and blood and death—_

“Wake up! Gertie! Ouch! Gertie, no, you’re _hurting_ me—!”

She gasped and lurched upright. Her hands—she was holding onto something—squeezing—

No, she was not where she thought she was. No, this wasn’t a battlefield; this wasn’t her enemy. It was Victoria. It was only _Victoria_. Beautiful, merciful Victoria.

Gertie’s blood-dimmed vision cleared. She was in the hospital, and it was morning. She released her stranglehold on Victoria’s throat. “Spirits, I’m so sorry,” she began, horrified and shame-faced, “and here I thought I was getting better.”

Victoria straightened her wimple and rubbed the base of her throat ruefully. “You _are_ getting better, believe it or not. There won’t be any bruises this time, I shouldn’t think, and I count that as an improvement.” She paused; the sounds of the convent coming back to life for the day ahead filled the air around the two women. “Anyway, come—we are about to break our fast. All those nightmares must make you terribly hungry.”

* * *

They were meant be a Secluded Order. She was never supposed to interact with _anyone_ besides another Anchorite, let alone a warrior of _the Pikce_.

But the Pikce hadn’t respected the Order’s vows, and when the came to raid and pillage and destroy any remaining resistance, solemn vows hadn’t mattered. They’d slaughtered the Mother Superior and many of Victoria’s beloved Sisters before moving on. Victoria had survived because one of the Pikce—for reasons known only to her—had chosen to spare Victoria’s life.

She hadn’t known who the Pikce was, and for all she knew now, that Pikce was dead. When fortune’s tide had turned, her people had not been merciful.

Victoria, though, decided to be different.

She wasn’t the most senior Anchorite in the convent, but she was the Healer, and so she was entrusted to make decisions about the troubled soul. When the Pikce were defeated, many of their warriors were broken in body and soul. Victoria believed she had a duty to them.

“There are ripe pears from the garden in the porridge this morning. I asked Moira to give you extra. Eat. They’re delicious,” Victoria said softly to Gertie.

Gertie stared down at her bowl like it was a scrying glass.

“Well. Go on.”

“I don’t understand why you do it,” Gertie said. She wasn’t talking about the pears or the breakfast.

Victoria shrugged. She’d been asked this before by others she’d helped heal. Her only regret was that she was only one woman. “My people won, but that doesn’t mean that your people need to keep on losing.”

“But it’s been _years_!”

“If that’s what it takes.”

Change came too slowly to see it from one night to the next, but even the deepest of wounds, properly treated, would close in time. Victoria patiently awaited the day that there would be no winning side and no losing side.

In the meantime, she would do what she could.


End file.
